Mums, it’s time to tell the truth

Mothers have always kept secrets because, well, imagine if we didn’t. The kids would discover we think school holidays are the tenth circle of hell; teachers would find out it was us who lost the class bird; and our own parents would be gutted to learn the four-letter word being parroted by their grandchild was picked up after you used it to describe them.

While secrets like these stop people being hurt, it’s the other ones we keep that are doing just the opposite, and some parents have been holding them in for decades. In the past few days they shared them with me.

Last week I wrote about how I close I came to hurting my son when he was barely a few weeks old. Biffed out of hospital still reeling from a traumatic birth, sick from exhaustion and infection, and utterly adrift in the terrifying new role of motherhood, I snapped one night when he wouldn’t stop crying. The arrival of my mum like an avenging angel in a yellow dressing gown saved us both from myself.

The events of that long-ago night are something I’ve mostly kept to myself throughout the years. It’s one thing to share funny stories of maternal frustration and commiserate with the exhaustion of new parents, but to admit to coming within seconds of harming your baby is another.

In a society that firmly believes women come with some inbuilt baby-rearing gene, an admission from a mum that she’s not coping, let alone that she could or nearly did do something awful, is both verboten and unnatural. The problem is that, by not admitting it, we’re hurting other mums and endangering more babies.

For the past week I’ve been hearing from women who’ve been keeping secrets like I did. I’ve had stories of new mums sitting on doorsteps crying; messages about close calls during dark nights of the soul; emails describing those moments when it was only luck that saw women and babies make it through to the next hour, next day.

These are women whose babies are just now learning to crawl or heading off to college; who raised them alone or with supportive partners; who were 19 or 39 when their first child was born; and who’ve never breathed a word about what happened.

Of course, it’s not just mothers. I’ve heard from dads who have been pushed way too far on way too little reserve until they are at their wits’ end with their much-loved babies. The difference here is the mythical ‘‘maternal instinct’’ women are assumed to be born with: a dangerous expectation on which fathers get a pass. It’s OK for dads to struggle, but mums are meant to not only cope but flourish under the pressure.

Regardless, while all their circumstances were different, almost every parent who responded said the same thing: We need to talk about it.

We need to talk about the way new mums are booted out of hospitals too soon. We need to talk about the lack of wraparound services when we’re home with our babies. We need to talk about the shortage of midwives, but mostly we need to talk about what a bloody tough job parenting is, and how easily stuff can go wrong.

By talking about the times when things have nearly gone very badly, we can normalise asking for help and let other parents know they aren’t alone.

We’ve been keeping secrets far too long, and we’ve done it because we have to. But now it’s time to share. And if we’re not quite ready to shout them out, let’s start by whispering.